


Sundays

by WafflesnRizzles



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: A lil bit sad, A snapshot of the Swan-Mills family, F/F, Fluffy, Regal Believer, Sort Of, Swan Believer, emma is married to hook but it aint good, gay pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:34:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21550840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WafflesnRizzles/pseuds/WafflesnRizzles
Summary: Sundays with Regina and Henry are the only days that Emma really smiles.A fluffy, slightly pining, SQ oneshot.
Relationships: Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Emma Swan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 112





	Sundays

It’s a Sunday afternoon and Regina stands at the stove, stirring a pot of homemade butternut squash soup as she looks out the kitchen window with a small smile on her face. She puts the spoon down and begins slicing a baguette, arranging the pieces on a cookie sheet before covering them with butter, salt, pepper, smashed garlic and rosemary. Her eyes keep straying to the window, from which she has a perfect view of her son and his mother tossing around a football in an elaborate game of Calvinball that has them both laughing more often than not. The sight never fails to bring that small smile to her face and the accompanying burst of warmth and affection in her chest. 

Sunday is objectively her favorite day of the week. It started with Snow’s infuriating dictum that Sunday was “Family Day” requiring a family meal that, naturally, Regina ended up hosting much to her own displeasure. Emma started showing up to dinner earlier and earlier until it somehow became routine for her to show up alone just before lunchtime to “spend quality time with the kid” that somehow always included Regina. Some days they would head to the park. Others they would go down to the beach, where Henry and Emma would run barefoot along the shoreline, the cold water shocking their feet and darkening their clothes while Regina watched in amusement. Some days, usually the ones marred by ominous clouds or that capped heavy weeks, were movie days, where the three of them would curl up under blankets, content to laugh and hold back tears together as they nibbled on junk food Regina definitely didn’t keep in the house for such occasions. And then there were days like this: a crisp, clear fall day that brought the color back into Emma’s sunken cheeks and the vibrancy back into her flat eyes. She had her infamous red leather jacket on over a muted floral print dress that fell to her ankles, the first time Regina had seen the woman wear the jacket in months. Though it clashed horribly with the dress and hung limply off Emma’s wasted frame, Regina found herself happy to see the woman wearing it. It reminded her of the woman she was before: tough, brash, stubborn and proud. The woman who rose to every challenge Regina threw at her, who wasn’t afraid to call her on her bullshit. The woman who enjoyed doing it. Now, Sundays are the only days Emma ever really smiles.

Regina turns from the window as the timer goes off, pulling the toasted bread out of the oven and setting it on a cooling rack before opening the back door and standing in the doorway, unwilling to call the two idiots inside just yet. Emma hurls a rock straight up in the air and begins sprinting down the yard with the football. 

“TIME!” Henry shouts as the rock lands, pausing Emma in her tracks. Emma hurls the football in the air like the rock and Henry sprints toward her, the two of them playfully shoving each other and vying to catch the ball as it hurtles back toward the Earth. Henry’s almost as tall as his Emma now, both of their hands reaching up to the same height as they sought to catch it. They end up in a heap on the grass, both of them scrambling to get the ball from the other amidst bursts of laughter and squeals that bring yet another affectionate smile to Regina’s lips. 

“Victory!” Henry shouts, finally wriggling himself free from his mother’s grasp. He hops three large hops away from the woman, his eyes shining as they meet his other mother’s. 

“Lunch?” he asks her excitedly, dropping the ball and racing into the house at her nod. Emma slowly gets up, her breath coming in heavy, short bursts as she holds her right side. 

“Jeeze, what have you been feeding that kid?” Emma asks Regina with a lopsided smile between panting breaths. 

“Same thing I’d be feeding you if you’d come over more often,” Regina sasses lightly. 

The answering smile is tight, not quite reaching the woman’s green eyes as she moves to go past Regina. Sundays were their days, but any other day Emma was merely a flash of blonde hair, a wave from across the street, a read reply to a text message. 

“Hold on,” the brunette breathes, stilling Emma by her shoulders. She smooths a few of the errant strands of the woman’s wild hair down and picks a few brown pieces of leaf out of it, her greedy hands lingering longer than necessary. Up close, she can see the dark circles covered by makeup under Emma’s eyes, making her draw in a harsh breath that she quickly tries to cover by clearing her throat. 

“You’re still working doubles,” Regina states, trying hard to keep the disapproval out of her voice. The pads of her fingers sweep gently over the darkened hollows. Emma knows it isn’t healthy. She doesn’t need Regina reminding her. 

Emma looks away, unwilling to face the compassion she knows she’ll find in the eyes before her and pulling out of Regina’s grasp. “Ashley’s still on maternity leave. David can only work days because of Neal and Ruby--” 

Regina knows. She’s heard the excuses all before. She lets out a harsh breath, her hands burning with rejection. She finishes Emma’s hanging sentence for her in a raspy monotone, “Might come back sometime soon.” She doesn’t bother to reiterate the arguments she’s made: that they can hire someone part-time, get her an assistant, reduce the Sheriff Station hours, or find some other solution. Emma always had an excuse, though. A reason why she couldn’t get to the applications that week, or a reason why a particular candidate wasn’t suitable. Regina knew it was, in part, because Emma felt it was up to her to keep the town safe, that people expected her to be there for their smallest trouble when the phone rang because she was the savior, the princess, the True Love child that existed to serve them. 

Some part of her also hoped that Emma did it because she dreaded going home to her perfect little grey house and the repulsive man who had put the wedding band on her ring finger. The one who had snuffed the fire out of Emma’s eyes, who had made her trade her impossibly-tight skinny jeans for loose dresses; her time with Henry for time with him. But Regina was biased, of course. Blinded by unrequited love she was doomed to hold for the woman who was the mother of her son, a fate Regina had resigned herself to since Emma’s wedding day nearly two years prior. 

Regina knew that it was sick to hope Emma Swan, her best friend, was miserable with her husband, so she shoved down the selfish words and let them eat away at her traitorous heart like bile. 

Emma eventually nods, swallowing. She shoots Regina a grateful glance when she realizes the woman wasn’t going to rehash the same argument, squeezing her shoulder once before slipping inside to eat, not noticing the way Regina leans into her touch.

“Mmm. Mom. This is amazing,” Henry groans in between mouthfuls of bread and soup. 

Emma makes a noise of assent that sounds dangerously close to a moan, causing Regina to choke on the water she had just sipped. 

“Jesus, ma, get a room already!” Henry exclaims at Emma, scooting his chair over to his mom to gently pat her on the back as she coughs and Emma glares.

“I’m not sure that’s wise,” Regina squeezes out between coughs. Once she’s gotten control over her breathing she continues, “If we leave the two of them alone, you might soon have a baby squash for a brother.” 

Henry laughs while Emma only doubles down on her glare, narrowing her eyes in mock anger. “Don’t listen to them,” she mutters to her soup. “You and I don’t need their approval.” And with that, she lifts the bowl to her lips and downs the remainder in one loud go, her eyes shining with mirth at Regina’s affected disgust. The whole scene--the food, Henry’s smile, the gleam in Regina’s dancing eyes-- fills Emma’s hollow heart to the brim. The rest of the week could be shit, but this, right here, is everything Emma needs. Sunday is objectively Emma’s favorite day of the week.


End file.
